Take a fresh look at your lifestyle.



my teacher nnamdi
Ifeoma pulled the hood of her cardigan forward
over her eyes, even though it did no good. She
peered down the street through the raindrops on
her glasses. Where are these ‘KEKE’ (commercial
tricycles)? It was dark and getting colder. And
now it was raining, too. There was no kEKE in
‘Wahala’. She sighed and tried to figure out if she
had enough cash for a cab. As she stood there
mentally counting her pocket change, a car
pulled up to the curb and the passenger window
slid down slowly. Ifeoma could barely make out a
male driver, no passengers, non-descript blue
Honda EOD …oh, not good, not good at all. Heart
pounding, she stuffed her hands in her pockets
and began walking away, quickly.
“Hey!” the driver called. Ifeoma ignored him,
walking even faster down the empty street. The
car followed her, slowly. “Hey wait — Ifeoma!” She
stopped in her tracks and spun around. “It’s me,
corper Nnamdi Amadi.”
Still keeping a wary distance, she squinted into
the dark interior of the car, and was pretty
certain the driver was the man who had taught
her English in SS3. “Mr. Amadi?”
He laughed, “It’s been — what? five years since
you graduated? I think you can call me Nnamdi
now.” He leaned over to open the passenger door.
“Sheesh, girl, it’s pouring — hop in!”
Ifeoma hesitated for only a moment, before
sliding gratefully into the warm, dry car. “Oh,
man, my clothes are soaked, I’m sorry, your
“Quit apologizing,” he said, “I saw you looking like
a drowned rat out there, so I knew what I was in
for.” He grinned at her, and she couldn’t help but
grin back. He didn’t look like he’d changed at all
since she was in his class — same low cut hair,
same easy smile, same kind brown eyes behind
studious wire-rimmed glasses. She felt a quick
rush of warmth to her face as she remembered
what a huge crush she’d had on him. He pulled
back out on to the street. “So, where are we
“Well…I live quite a way from here…” she gave
him directions to her house.
He gave a low whistle. “And you always take the
keke, this late at night?” He glanced over quickly,
concern on his face. “I mean, not that you can’t
take care of yourself, but it’s dark out there, and
kind of deserted.”
“I know, I know,” Ifeoma replied. “But my car is in
the mechanic workshop, and I was working on a
paper at the library — it’s due on Friday, before
second semester Break, and I’m kind of
struggling with it.”
“Really? What’s your topic?”
Ifeoma rolled her eyes. “comparative analysis of
Wole Soyinkas works and that of Chinua Achebe
on their views of the future .”
“Wow,” Nnamdi said, nodding thoughtfully.
“Ambitious undertaking.”
“Yeah, but I may have bit off more than I could
chew this time.” She polished the water drops off
of her glasses with the edge of her t-shirt, which
was slightly drier than her hoodie. “I have the
outline, all of my note cards, the bones written
down — I’m just having a hard time pulling it all
together, you know, making it gel.” She sighed,
her mood suddenly as dismal as the weather.
“Hmm…” Nnamdi mused, while they idled at a
stop light. “You know, my house isn’t far. We
could go there, I could look at what you’ve got,
see if I can offer any suggestions. We could even
throw your sweatshirt in the dryer for a few
minutes.” He grinned again. “What do you say?”
“Would you?” Ifeoma’s eyes lit up. “Oh, that
would be so great…I mean, I would really
appreciate any help you could give me!”
“Absolutely,” he said. “I remember you being a
very good student, Ifeoma, an excellent writer.
I’m looking forward to reading what you have
done so far.”
Ifeoma blushed, and looked out the window,
“Thanks Mr. Amadi.”
He glanced at her again, quickly, then turned
right, on to a street. “No problem — always glad to
help out a former student. And please, call me
Ifeoma bit her lower lip, shyly. “Okay…Nnamdi.
Nnamdi drove through an older neighborhood,
with small, well-kept yards and huge trees lining
the street. His house was fairly small. They
dashed from the car to the front door, laughing
and dodging raindrops. He tossed Ifeoma’s hoodie
in the dryer and gave her some towels to dry off
and spread out on the couch so she could sit
down. He introduced her to his Jack Russell
terrier, Oscar — Oscar Wilde, named by a friend,
Nnamdi explained, rolling his eyes — who was
excited and delighted to have company visiting,
but finally settled down, curling up on a cushion
on the floor.
“Do you need to call anyone to let them know
you’ll be late?”
Ifeoma shook her head. “Nope…my Gran couldn’t
take the cold and the damp anymore in jos, so
my parents moved with her to onitsha a couple of
months ago. Since I’m in school, I decided to stay
in Jos and get an apartment.”
“Ah, I see. Nnamdi proofed and critiqued her
work. Ifeoma nodded, asked questions, and took
notes…and remembered why Mr. Amadi had
been her favorite teacher in secondary school.
She wasn’t the only girl in her class who had had
a crush on him. He was handsome, in a nerdy
sort of way — tall and lean, with that wonderful
smile. He was young, right out of the university
two years ago…friendly, kind, great sense of
humor — but also intense and passionate about
literature, and he imparted that excitement and
enthusiasm to his students.
Finally, yawning, Ifeoma asked him to please drive
her home. He helped her slip on her sweatshirt,
now warm and drier than the rest of her clothes.
As he pulled up to her apartment building, he
said, “You know, I could help you polish that
paper a little more, if’ you’d like to come over
again, maybe tomorrow?”
Ifeoma felt her heart pounding, her breathing
shallow. “Yes, yes, I would really like that…I would
appreciate it…um, I get my car out of the shop in
the afternoon…what time would you like me to
come over?”
They agreed about 6:00 would be good. They
exchanged phone numbers, and Ifeoma
programmed his number into her mobile. Just
before she left the car, Nnamdi slid his arm
around her shoulder and gave her a quick little
squeeze. “Great, see you then..”
OK, this is really weird, Ifeoma thought, as she let
herself in to her apartment. Why do I feel like I
just made a date with my teacher? She stripped
off her damp clothes, tossing them in the
hamper, and stepped into a hot, steamy shower.
She lathered the soap luxuriously over her soft
skin. She closed her eyes, leaning back against
the tile wall, feeling her Tips grow taut, imagining
how Nnamdi’s hands would feel sliding down her
sides, over her curvy hips, then behind her to cup
her bottom, pulling her closer as he…
Ifeoma snapped back to reality. Jeez, get a grip.
What would a guy like Nnamdi see in a shy, plain,
inexperienced girl like her? As she dried off, she
appraised her reflection in the mirror critically.
Wavy brown hair…that was okay, she guessed.
Piercing brown eyes — probably her best feature,
but always behind her ever-present glasses. A
scattering of freckles — not every guy likes those.
And there’s just too much of me, she thought,
frowning at her full bosoms and smacking her
ample Buttocks in irritation. She towel dried her hair,
pulled on a nightshirt, and climbed into bed.
Ifeoma lay awake in the dark, tossing and
turning, thinking about the little squeeze Nnamdi
had given her shoulders, wondering if it meant
anything at all. Her Tips felt super sensitive,
rubbing against the soft cotton, and she brought
her hands up under the covers to tweak them
and pull on them, teasing them into aching little
peaks. Still tugging on her Tips with her left hand,
she slid her right hand into her panties, her two
fingers sliding w€tly over and over her throbbing
femalecore as she brought herself to a quick,
intense orgasm and soothed herself to sleep.
The next morning, she woke up late — her hair
tangled, the sheets in disarray, and her panties
pushed halfway down her thighs. She’d evidently
had some wild dreams. And she could hardly
concentrate in class.
At 6:05, Nnamdi opened the door to a shivering
Ifeoma on his front yard. “Come in, come in,” he
said, ushering her out of the cold. They worked
on the finishing touches of her paper over a bowl
of noodles.
“Well, that was fun,” Nnamdi said, clearing the
table. “How do you feel about it?”
“Pretty good, actually.” Ifeoma admitted. “And
really relieved — I didn’t think I would ever finish
it…wow, and it’s only 7:30!” She looked amazed.
“Yep, you worked hard. I would give you an A.”
She smiled shyly at his praise. “So..big plans for
the holidays?”
“No, not really. Since my folks and Gran moved
away, it’s just me,” she sighed.
“I can relate,” Nnamdi said, nodding. “Doesn’t
feel much like Christmas this year.”
Ifeoma looked around at his tidy, almost Spartan,
living room. “You know what? You need a tree.”
An hour later, they were back with a tree…a
stand…a couple of boxes of ornaments…a string
of lights…all the things Ifeoma insisted Nnamdi
needed, and he had obliged because her bubbly
enthusiasm was contagious. While he filled the
stand with water and worked on getting the tree
as straight as possible, Ifeoma ran out to her car
and came back in with a couple of CD’s. She
popped one in his stereo, and then Bing was
dreaming of a White Christmas. Nnamdi laughed
and shook his head, but after a couple of songs,
the tree was decorated, the house smelled like
pine, and he had to admit, it really felt more like
Christmas. He scrounged up a couple of packets
of hot cocoa mix, spiked them with peppermint
Schnapps, and handed a mug to Ifeoma. “Not as
good as real cocoa,” he apologized, “but the
Schnapps helps a bit.”
“Helps a lot!” Ifeoma giggled. “Now all you need
are some cookies.”
“Well,” he said softly, taking the mug from her
hands and setting it down, “I think maybe I could
use some mistletoe.”
Nnamdi took her face in his hands and kissed her
gently. When she didn’t protest, he wrapped his
arms around her. His kiss deepened, tasting of
chocolate and peppermint, and Ifeoma’s knees
felt weak. He pulled her close against his body,
and Ifeoma felt a hardness in the front of his
jeans, pressing against her belly. He shifted
slightly against her, and she could feel it growing,
getting stiffer. She broke the kiss, and came up
for air, gasping slightly. Her cheeks felt so hot,
and she stammered, feeling silly, “Uh…w-
well…thanks for the help…and the cocoa…” She
gathered up her papers, stuffing them
haphazardly into her backpack.
“Ifeoma, I’m sorry,” he apologized. “I didn’t mean
“No, no,” she said, embarrassed, unable to look at
him, “it’s not you, it’s me…believe me, it’s me.”
Nnamdi touched her arm. “You don’t have to
leave…I’ll behave, I promise.”
“Yeah, I really do have to go…class in the
morning. Listen, I’ll call you and let you know my
grade, ok?”
Ifeoma didn’t call, but she sent him a text
message, “I got an A — thanks for all your help!”
He texted back, asking her over to celebrate, but
got no response.
A week later, at 5:00 on Christmas Eve, Nnamdi
was flipping through the channels, and then
there was a knock.
Nnamdi opened the door to Ifeoma, grinning,
cheeks pink with the cold, holding a plate of
assorted homemade cookies. “Wow, those look
fantastic! So do you!” he laughed. “Come in,
come in…”
“I just wanted to thank you for all your help, you
saved my grade. I’m sorry I didn’t call, I just –”
“Don’t worry about it, you don’t need to explain
anything,” he assured her.
They’d had enough of junk food, so Nnamdi took
her out for a real dinner at his favorite restaurant.
They drove around and looked at Christmas lights
for a while, then finally pulled back into Nnamdi’s
driveway. “Well,” he said. “Want to come in for
cookies? I happen to have some homemade ones.
And I even have milk for real cocoa.” He wiggled
his eyebrows playfully.
“REAL cocoa this time? How could a girl resist?”
Ifeoma laughed.
He dimmed the lights and plugged in the tree.
They sat, munching cookies and sipping spiked
hot chocolate, listening to Ifeoma’s Christmas
CD’s and telling stories. Suddenly, Nnamdi said,
“Hey, I almost forgot — I got a gift for you. Hang
on, I’ll be right back.” He bounded down the hall,
and returned quickly with a small package
wrapped neatly in gold paper. “It’s not much, but
when I saw it, I immediately thought of you. And I
was really hoping I would see you again.”
Ifeoma’s eyes shone as she unwrapped a green
leather-bound journal, the cover tooled in
intricate leaf designs. “Wow, thank you so much,”
she said softly, “it’s beautiful.”
“I thought of you as soon as I saw it — the color
reminded me of your eyes.” She looked at him,
surprised, and he cleared his throat. “I just
wanted you to know, you are a talented writer,
Ifeoma, and I hope you keep writing.” Cautiously
he reached out and brushed her hair back from
her face. “You know, I have to confess something.
When you were in my class a couple of years ago,
you were what — eighteen?” She nodded, not
trusting herself to speak, feeling like she could
barely breathe.
“Well,” he said quietly, “even when you were my
student and I knew it was wrong, knew I couldn’t
have you, knew that I shouldn’t even think about
it,” his hand slid from her shoulder, down to the
small of her back, as he leaned in and kissed her
forehead gently, “I wanted you. I wanted you so
much. Do you know how hard that was for me?”
Ifeoma nodded, swallowing hard. “Yeah, yeah, I
do.” She slipped her arms around his neck and
whispered, “I have a present for you too…but you
will need to unwrap it.”
He kissed her lips, her cheeks, her eyelids; he
nuzzled her neck and his mouth was so warm.
“Ifeoma, baby…” he murmured, his hands
slipping under her sweater, and then tracing up
the smooth skin of her back. “It feels so good to
finally be able to hold you…to touch you…” She
didn’t even realize he had unhooked her bra, and
she was amazed to feel his hands cupping her
bare bosoms, his thumbs teasing her hardening
Tips. She made a little sound of pleasure, deep in
her throat, and he pulled her on top of him,
straddling his lap. His hands were in her hair, and
his kisses were more urgent, more insistent. She
felt his hardness pressed up against her, but this
time she didn’t pull away. She circled her hips,
experimentally, grinding her crotch against his.
Nnamdi grabbed her hips impatiently, and
pushing himself up against her, feeling her heat
through her jeans. She rubbed against him again,
and he groaned against her neck, his arms
tightening around her; she felt a shudder run
through his body, and suddenly he pushed her
away, not roughly, but firmly. “Stop, god, stop,
you’re going to make me come before I’m even
inside you!”
Ifeoma blushed, delighting in this information, in
her new-found sense of power. He chuckled,
kissed her a few more times, and gently removed
her glasses and put them on the end table, next
to his. Then he grabbed her hands and pulled her
to her feet. “Condoms, condoms are in the
bedroom,” he muttered, while he steered her
down the hall.
“Um, I’m on the pill…for my cycle…” Ifeoma said
“Good, good,” Nnamdi said, between kisses, “real
good.” He left a trail of their clothing all the way
to the bedroom: her sweater, his shirt, her bra,
his belt, their shoes and socks…when they got to
his bed, he tugged her jeans and panties down
over her hips and tossed them on the floor, and
his jeans followed in the heap. “Looks like we both
lost a strip poker game,” he joked, and Ifeoma
giggled, a little nervously.
Nnamdi lay next to Ifeoma, nuzzling her neck and
kissing her shoulder. His skin was warm, and she
could feel the length of his hard rooster throbbing
against her hip. His palm stroked down her belly
to the soft curls between her thighs. Ifeoma
parted her legs slightly as Nnamdi stroked her
Kitty-Cat, easing her labia apart with his
fingertips, and sliding one long, slim finger into
her opening. He whispered in her ear, “You’re so
w€t, so tight, I can’t wait to be inside you.” He
rolled on top of her, pressed the head of his
rooster against her slick slit, and thrust forward
with his hips. “Baby, you’re so tight,” he panted
with effort, pushing a little more insistently…and
met resistance…
His eyes searched her face. Ifeoma was biting her
lip, breathing shallowly, but she had a look of
almost grim determination on her face. “Please,
Nnamdi, please…don’t stop.”
“Ifeoma?” She wouldn’t meet his eyes, and
suddenly he understood and felt like a total
bastard for not realizing sooner. “Oh, honey,
you’ve never done this before?”
She looked at him pleadingly. “It’s okay, I’m okay,
just do it, please…”
Nnamdi felt himself wilting just a little, the
urgency gone. “No, baby, not hurried like this.
You deserve better. I didn’t know. You deserve
something special.”
“This IS special!” Ifeoma insisted.
“Nnamdi…you’re the best teacher I’ve ever had. I
know you can teach me how. I trust you.” She
buried her face against his chest, mumbling,
“Besides, it’s my Christmas present for you. I
want you to be my first.”
He circled his arms around her, holding her for a
moment. He ran his hands up and down her arms
soothingly, then kissed the top of her head.
“Alright…but let’s back up a few steps.”
Ifeomad looked at him, questioningly.
“Well,” he said, “we were sort of skipping straight
to dessert, without an appetizer or a main
Ifeoma nodded, swallowing hard, while Nnamdi
slowly began kissing down her neck, her
shoulder, her collarbone, her bosoms…stopping
to tease her Tips with his lips and tongue while
Ifeoma sighed and ran her fingers through his
hair. He continued his journey south-ward,
dipping his tongue briefly into her navel, then
settled himself between her legs, bending her
legs at the knee and pushing her thighs apart.
His breath was hot against her, and he opened
her Kitty-Cat with his thumbs, running his tongue
from her untried opening to her tiny cl!t. Ifeoma
gasped in shock — no one had ever done this to
her before. She’d made out with a few guys in
school, a few uninspired gropes in the backseat,
dry humping, a couple of quick hand jobs. But no
man had ever taken the time to focus on her, to
devote himself entirely to her pleasure.
“Nnamdi…” she managed to squeak.
“Yeah?” he said, grinning up at her from between
her thighs.
“That’s…wow…that’s amazing…it feels…” Ifeoma
found herself at a loss for further words.
“Nice?” he murmured, giving her a long lick.
“Ohhhh god,” Ifeoma groaned, her knees
trembling, and she felt like she was melting under
his tongue like a scoop of strawberry ice cream.
“It feels a lot more intense than when I…you
know…self-service,” she finished, embarrassed.
“Well, sure…kind of like, you can’t tickle yourself,
you know…it’s better when someone else makes
you feel good.” He licked her again, and she
writhed under him, her Kitty-Cat opening for him
like a flower. “Just relax for me, Ifeoma, let me
make you feel good…”
He lapped her gently, teasing her femalecore,
feeling it swell under his tongue. He laved little
circles around it, experimenting until he found
the spot that made her pant, made her push her
Kitty-Cat against his mouth, her hands pulling a
little at his hair. He smiled to himself, focusing on
that sweet spot, feeling Ifeoma’s thighs shaking
under his hands, while she m0aned,
“Yes…yesss…oh Nnamdi…right there…I’m so
close…” He felt her cl!t throbbing, and sucked
gently until he tasted a gush of her sweet juices
as she came in his mouth.
Ifeoma was floating, everything was pink and
golden and fuzzy…and just when Nnamdi’s
attention to her sensitive button became too
much, he seemed to sense that, and shifted his
attention lower, lapping intently at her opening.
His agile tongue tickled and teased, and then
grew more insistent, probing. It was gentle, but
warm and firm, pushing a little deeper, and
Ifeoma began to crave something bigger, and
harder. Nnamdi moved up her body, cradling her
in his arms, and his hand replaced his mouth. His
fingers slid inside her, and she was w€t, so w€t —
first one finger, then two — opening and
stretching her a little more. Nnamdi kissed her
over and over until her head was spinning, his
tongue in her mouth mirroring his fingers,
probing, teasing. His fingers brushed over a
magic place deep inside her and she gasped in
shock, arching her back. He pulled back from her
just a moment, evidently pleased with her
reaction. Smiling a wicked, knowing, smile, he
resumed kissing her deeply, his fingers rubbing
and rubbing inside her, the warmth and tingles
spreading through her belly, and Ifeoma came
hard on his fingers, her w€tness gushing on his
She watched in a daze as he brought his fingers
to his mouth, tasting her orgasm — then he kissed
her, and she could taste her own pleasure on his
lips and tongue. “Now,” he said softly, “I think
you are more ready for me.” He rolled on top of
her, nudging her legs apart with his knees, as her
Kitty-Cat was still throbbing from her intense
Ifeoma glanced down, and his joystick was so
beautiful, curving upward toward his belly. She
grasped it gently, and he closed his eyes,
breathing shallowly. She stroked her hand up and
down his shaft a few times, marveling that the
skin was so soft, but his Attention was so hard. A
tiny pearl of liquid appeared at the tip.
Fascinated, she dipped her finger in it, tracing his
pre-come all over the swollen head of his rooster,
painting it with w€tness and making it shine.
“Honey, please,” he groaned, “I’m trying so hard,
but I only have so much control.”
“Oh…oh! I’m sorry!” she apologized, quickly.
“It’s okay,” he assured her, kissing the tip of her
nose. He slipped his hands under her to cup her
Buttocks and lift her hips a little. “My hands are kind of
busy,” he said, squeezing her cheeks a little for
emphasis, making her laugh and breaking the
tension. “So you guide me in, baby.”
She pointed his rooster toward her Kitty-Cat,
rubbing the joystick up and down her slit a little,
until she could feel him slip inside her again. This
time, when he pushed, there was less resistance,
she was so w€t, so open. “Deep breath,” he
whispered against her lips, and he thrust once
more, harder. Ifeoma gave a sharp little gasp of
pain, but it was over so quickly. Nnamdi kept his
body still, kissing her face all over, her cheeks,
her eyelids, her forehead. “Are you okay? Did I
hurt you?” he asked, concerned.
“I…I think it’s okay. I think…it’s good…” Ifeoma
breathed, her arms around his neck. She began
to move a little, experimentally, her hands sliding
down his back. He buried his face against her
neck, and moved with her, letting her set an easy
pace at first. But soon, he began thrusting with a
purposeful rhythm, and she felt his muscles
His eyes were closed, his expression intent, and
through clenched teeth he growled,
“Yesss…Bleep…your Kitty-Cat is so hot, so
sweet…Ifeoma, baby…I’m going to come…” She
felt his rooster swell even bigger, it felt even
harder inside her, and her eyes opened wide in
amazement that she could feel every pulse, every
throb, as he filled her with his come.
Slowly, Nnamdi relaxed. His eyes opened again,
regained their focus, and he cupped her face in
his palms, kissing her tenderly. “Thank you
Ifeoma, what a special gift. I feel honored that
you chose me to be your first.”
“I want you to be my second, too…and my third,”
Ifeoma giggled, “but I think we’ll need some
cookies first to get our strength back.”
Written by Innobetty1

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